Subject: The Shallow End
Date: Fri, 19 Feb 1999 16:13:30 -0500
From: Rip <thrillby>
Reply-To: thrillby@p...
To: Shallow End list

Wow. Last week's lark of an email detailing my
boredom-developed thoughts elicited such positive response (except from one Cowabunga subscriber
who emailed me to tell me I was "trying too hard to appear hip" -- it was worth writing it just to get his email) I've
decided what the hell, why not do it on a weekly basis. Apologies
to the inconvenienced. Everyone else, hope it gives fodder for
conversations over the weekend if you don't have anything else
to talk about. Forward it to anyone you want, or tell me if you want
off the list.

But anyway, welcome to The Shallow End -- dive on in.

There is one group of people that it's still perfectly okay to
discriminate against: stupid people. Stupid people are denied
employment and opportunities of all sorts every day, just for
being stupid. It begs the question: when will stupid people organize
and protest? Imagine thousands of self-proclaimed, out-of-the-closet
morons marching on the Capitol, brandishing misspelled signs
and screaming slogans full of faulty logic, demanding their rights
as memburs of sesyiety.

One of the hallmarks which separates great work from the
mediocre is Attention To Detail. Take, for instance, The Road Runner &
Coyote cartoons. In your mind's eye (you've seen this happen at LEAST
a hundred times before), watch the way Wile E. Coyote falls off the
cliff -- face down, limbs spread, growing smaller and smaller,
drifting a little to the left, then a little to the right as the
whistling sound-effect diminishes. Then, he disappears for a full
second, with no sound. Then, a distant sound effect that sounds
like a cross between a SLAP! and a POOF! as we see a puff of dust
rise when he hits the desert floor. THAT is attention to detail. The
cartoon still would have been funny without that three or four
seconds, but that just takes it over the top. How about another
desert-themed work -- the scenes in "Raising Arizona" when the
Snopes brothers ask Ed about breast feeding as they eat cereal,
or when H.I. says Ed's insides were "a rocky place" where his
"seed could find no purchase," as the camera shows him spraying a
garden hose over the dirt? Attention to detail.

I've noticed when I get nostalgic about different periods from my
past, I only remember the good stuff. And I'm not talking about
major events -- just everyday stuff. It gives me pause to consider
what aspects of my life right now I'll be nostalgic about years
down the road, and to try to appreciate them more in the present. You
should, too.

Chuck Yeager is a badass.

The right to bear arms, despite what the anti-gun lobby will tell
you, isn't based upon an outmoded model of society in which
everyone hunted for their food. It was put in the Constitution because the
framers knew that a government which knew the citizenry was
armed to the teeth would think twice about what it did with its power,
power which is granted to them as a necessary evil by those same
well-armed citizens. And how is government different than any other
social institution? Well, it can take things from you -- possessions,
freedom and your very life -- by FORCE if it wants. No other
institution can do that, and the framers understood this very well.

Why I don't have cable TV: every minute you spend in front of the
TV is a minute lost forever in which you could have done something
productive. That's not a particularly stunning insight, but it's a
good one to remind yourself of now and again.

Thanks to Spanky, I'm now hooked on Big Ed's Super Saucer
chocolate-chip cookie ice cream sandwiches, which I really don't need.
I've seen Spanky eat a whole bag of nacho-flavored Doritos while
dipping them in a jar of peanut butter -- no danger of me picking up that
habit, I'm glad to say.

I do enjoy looking at naked women, but strip joints have to be
one of the most depressing places on earth when you notice all the
lonely but prosperous-looking middle-aged fat guys who look
like the boss on "News Radio," many wearing wedding bands, leering
and lusting at women they could never get without money. Neither
casinos nor strip joints bring out the best in the human spirit.

Speaking of "News Radio"... man, is Phil Hartman severely
missed.
His death is yet another reason to watch less TV.

I'm not an actor, but I'm convinced what acting really is is just
deciding which words in a sentence get the emphasis. Take, for
instance, this conversation-opener which you might find useful in
restaurants. Say this line out loud:

How can you eat that shit?

Okay, now say each of the following variations out loud, and
behold the subtle nuances created by emphasizing one particular word
or another:

How can you EAT that shit?

How can you eat that SHIT?

How CAN you eat that shit?

How can you eat THAT shit?

And for you aspiring DeNiros:

HOW can you EAT that shit?

How... can you... eat... that SHIT?

How can YOU... eat THAT... shit?

See? It's all in the emphasis. Remember to thank me in your
Oscar acceptance speech.

I think one reason The Andy Griffith Show seems so natural is
because of the way they filmed the scenes in Andy's office. In any
scene, you'll see the office from every side of the desk and every
angle, so that it doesn't seem like a set, or that there could be a
camera crew there. This was quite innovative for its time. Still is,
really.

Speaking of 60s television, while talking with a buddy last
weekend,
he pointed out that Robby Douglas' band on "My Three Sons"
was named The Griefs. We both agreed that's a damn cool name.

When I see hipsters wearing nose rings, the first image that
always comes to my mind is one of livestock -- pigs and cows, both
literally and metaphorically -- then I wonder if they pick their
noses with the rings in, or do they wait until night and pick a
day's worth of boogers at once? Or do they take booger breaks
throughout the day? I doubt this is the imagery nose
ring-wearers intend to project.

Am I really expected to believe that Michael Jordan would wait
until Sundays to take advantage of MCI's 5¢ a minute rate to keep up
with his "Space Jam buddies"? And no, the fact that he would
call cartoon characters is not the part that stretches my credulity.

Rip

The Shallow End
©1999 Southern Surf Syndicate Productions
http://www.penetrators.com
--- End forwarded message ---

Fender Bass, Small Firearms

Thanks Trace, these are wicked funny

Danny Snyder

"With great reverb comes great responsibility" - Uncle Leo

Playing keys and guitar with Combo Tezeta

Formerly a guitarist in The TomorrowMen and Meshugga Beach Party

Latest surf project - Now That's What I Call SURF

Wow ... too much hilarity. Thanks for posting these!

-Warren

That was excessively violent and completely unnecessary. I loved it.

Thanks for posting.
I hope there is more. I have admired Rip's playing for years. I had no idea he was such a brilliant (and funny) philosopher.

Now I understand why The Shallow End is dedicated to him.
To Rip

Welcome to The Shallow End #3: commentary of absolutely no
importance whatsoever
by Rip Thrillby!

This week's look at Attention to Detail comes from my favorite
movie, "Dr. Strangelove, Or How I learned to Stop Worrying and
Love the Bomb." In a movie, attention to detail is what it makes the
events seem like they're happening in their own consistent
reality, however outrageous or bizarre it may be.

At the beginning of the movie, we see the bikini-clad
mistress/secretary of George C. Scott as Gen. Buck Turgidson
answer the phone in a hotel room while Buck is off-camera having
quality time on the can. Look at her carefully -- she's the only female role
in the movie, but she has already appeared once in the movie,
when we saw the crew of the B-52 bomber piloted by Major T.J. Kong
(Slim Pickens). While the plane flies on autopilot, Kong looks at a
Playboy magazine whose centerfold model is the same woman, with a
copy of Foreign Affairs strategically (pardon pun) covering her buttocks.

Dr. Strangelove is chock full of this kind of easy-to-miss
minutiae, such as in the War Room, where Turgidson has a stack of
books in front of him labeled "World Targets in Megadeaths." Yes,
attention to detail. I won't ruin the rest of them for you, but I will point
out that President Merkin Muffly has to be one of the all-time
funniest names for a movie character, especially if you know
what a merkin is.

Time really is relative, and there ain't as much of it as it
sometimes seems -- and there never has been. A trait I know I
share with many others is the tendency to view eras before before my
time as their own self-contained spheres, particularly those with
easily identifiable styles of fashion, music, cars, etc., such as the
1950s and early 60s. That's not the way it really works, though. Things
changed so quickly through the middle part of the century, at
least on surface levels, that it really seems like it should be a
longer period of time.

Now, I can remember 1989 like it was yesterday, and it doesn't
seem that remarkably different to me than 1999. Fashion and
entertainment aren't as monolithic as they were 30 and 40 years
ago, and this has a lot to do with this perception. Ten years was the
same space of time between the end of WWII and Elvis' first
recordings, and between Buddy Holly dying and The Beatles
calling it quits, events which seem worlds apart, for more than just the
profound difference in hairstyles.

The ad slogan for the 1973 movie "American Graffiti" was,
"Where were you in '62?" The movie came out eleven years later, and its
world seems as different as night and day from 1973. Would a
movie about 1988 seem as quaint and nostalgic today? I seriously
doubt it, and yes, I'm quite aware of the recent spat of movies taking
place in the early 80s.

Taking it further, it puts in perspective just how young this
experiment called the United States is when you look at it in
terms of a series of overlapping human life-spans. There are a handful
of people within 100 miles of 99% of the people reading this,
wherever you are, who are over 100 years old. There were people around
that they themselves considered old as dirt when they were kids 10
decades ago. Some of the oldsters at the end of the last century
were at least teenagers or in their twenties by the time Thomas
Jefferson kicked the bucket, and well into their thirties by the
time James Madison, father of the Constitution died in 1836. So,
basically, today you could go to a nursing home and meet folks
who in their youth shared the planet with and probably knew at least a
handful of people who were born while George Washington was
alive (he died in 1799). It really wasn't that long ago.

I pointed out to my mother on her 50th birthday that she had
already lived through nearly a fourth of this country's history. She didn't
like that very much.

Speaking of Madison and the gang, have you ever looked at the
back of two dollar bill and tried to picture what that scene must have
really been like? The body odor must have been of lethal
pungency -- a bunch of guys wearing long-sleeved shirts, coats and wigs in JULY, with no air conditioning or even electric fans? How often did
people bathe or launder their clothes? Folks tend to forget that hygiene
is pretty much a 20th Century innovation, but I bet you wouldn't if
you caught a whiff of Ben Franklin on a summer afternoon.

Johnny Cash is a badass.

I'm not sure if I'm imagining this or not, but lately it seems like
there are a lot more television advertisements using the time-
honored tradition of dressing a guy up as a giant rooster or Milk
of Magnesia bottle or whatever. Can the return the four guys
dressed as the Fruit of the Loom, laughing hysterically from inside people's
underwear be far behind? What about the Budweiser Taste
Buds (always my favorite of the genre)? The Fox Network, no doubt will be the first to air commercials with people in condom or tampon
costumes.
Maybe they have, and I've just missed them.

How in the hell are they going to advertise tooth brushes and
razor blades 30 years from now? Every commercial you see has them
flying through space and being transformed my angelic beams of
laser light in to what look like tools that should be hanging from a Jedi's
utility belt. How high-tech can you make a razor??

Speaking of Jedis, there is an article on the new Star Wars
prequel in today's USA Today -- http://www.usatoday.com/life/lphoto.htm
--
where they interview fans who are so obsessed with Star Wars
that they are planning on flying from Europe to the US to see the first
screenings. And they say there's no American Culture...

There's a profile of one guy who likens "Star Wars: The Phantom
Menace" to a Christian discovering the existence of the Old
Testament after only knowing of the New. If that's not disturbing
enough, he's planning on naming his child Anakin, which is of
course, Darth Vader's real name.

Being named "Anakin" should ensure plenty of ass-whippings
from the kid's peers in the years ahead, but I can also see young Anakin
having plenty of excuses to justify any delinquency in his teen
years. "Sorry, pop... I know I shouldn't have run over all those
mailboxes with your car, but I just couldn't help giving in to the
power of my hate."

"But hate and anger lead to the Dark Side, son. A Jedi is the
master of his emotions, and craves not vengeance."

"Uh huh."

"Tell me -- what is it that you hate so much, my son?"

"What do you think, you stupid geek?? I hate YOU and mom for
giving me this idiotic name!!"

This week's Shallow End Diving Board takes you to:

Pulp Art
http://americanpopculture.net/b2_pulpnovel.htm
A gallery that sells the ORIGINAL PAINTINGS for pulp novels and
magazines from
the 30s-60s!! Wow.

Worst Songs of the 60s, 70s and 80s
http://www.wwsamuellreunion.com/tinaindx.htm
Just what it says -- great commentary such classics as "Indian
Reservation" and
"Honey."

Archie McPhee Online
http://www.mcphee.com
Speaking of the classics -- get whoopee cushions, fake vomit
and dog crap all online!

To unsubscribe or subscribe, send your request to
thrillby@p...

The Shallow End
©1999 Southern Surf Syndicate Productions
http://www.penetrators.com
--- End forwarded message ---

Fender Bass, Small Firearms

Subject: The Shallow End 3/12/99
Date: Fri, 12 Mar 1999 18:12:49 -0500
From: Rip <thrillby>
Reply-To: thrillby@p...

Welcome to another edition of The Shallow End: weekly
commentary of absolutely no importance whatsoever by Rip Thrillby.

Let's dive on in:

When you run out of things to be thankful about, pay attention
some time to the advertisements during the news for health products
you don't need (yet).
Y´

There is Trouble With The Trees

When I was in high school, a couple friends had an English
class where everyone was given the assignment of writing a poem,
which they'd have to read out loud to the class. My buddies came to
lunch one day laughing about how one of the stoners in the class
simply transcribed the Rush song "The Trees," which is about oaks and
maples fighting over who gets the sunlight, and then a bunch of
lumberjacks show them who's boss by chopping them all down.
Or something. (I'm not making this up.)Y´

Anyway, those in the class who recognized the source kept their
guffaws to themselves, even when the teacher went on to rave
about what an effective metaphor the stoner had come up with.

That the teacher was suckered in is not surprising; most "rock"
lyrics read like mediocre-to-bad high school poetry anyway,
especially since they usually rhyme. ("Serious" poetry, as we all
know, never rhymes.) Prevalent themes include self-obsession,
frustration, despair, self-obsession, why everything sucks, and
self-obsession -- in other words, the kinds of things that 16 year-
olds who are given to writing poetry think about.
Y´
... Which is one reason I love instrumental music. I appreciate a
well-crafted lyric as much as anyone, but a well-crafted melody is
even rarer, and has as much if not more power to emotionally
affect people (and without a language barrier). And like the best art of
all disciplines, it doesn't tell you WHAT to think or feel -- it
just throws it out for you, and you're free to interpret it
anyway you want.

I liken it to what Low Brow artist Robert Williams said in an
interview about his extremely detailed paintings. They always
have long, evocative titles, but beyond that, he refuses to say what
their "meaning" is. "Figure it out for yourself," he says. Indeed.

Back to the high school students, I'd love to see the results of an
experiment where you'd play a handful of instrumental songs of
different keys and tempos for a class, and have them write a
100-word essay on what they think each song is about.

I doubt greedy trees and lumberjacks would come up, but you
never know with these kids today.

Y´----------

You can tell a lot about a woman by whether she objects to being
called "dollface," "babycakes," or generically, a "chick." And you
can tell a lot about a guy by whom he chooses to address with
these terms, and when and where.

The only thing more annoying than a guy who gives you a limp,
dead-fish handshake is one grabs your fingers and squeezes them
before your palms even meet. A limp handshake is a sign of a wimp --
no ambiguity there. But what is Mr. Finger-Cruncher's message? Is
the guy just an uncultured dumbass who doesn't know any better?
Or is this some kind of primitive alpha-male power play? Saying,
"Sorry if my hand's wet -- I just took a leak out back" is always a good
line in these situations. It doesn't even matter if your hand is wet
or not.

An even trickier situation these days is when men and women
shake hands. The traditional rule is that a man doesn't offer his hand
unless she does first. But how many people actually know this? I
still go with tradition, even at the risk of being thought rude.
Lots of people already think that, so I consider it an acceptable
risk.

Notes To Aspiring Standup Comedians:
We all already know that:
- New York and LA are different than each other.
- Airline food sucks.
- Lots of foreigners run convenience stores and drive cabs.

Related note -- with Elizabeth Dole flirting with running for
president, get ready for the endless onslaught of jokes about
how PMS will start a nuclear war.

Y´

As I attended the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans on January 2, 1993
to witness the University of Alabama destroy The University of
Miami and win its 12th national championship (a record, btw -- suck on
that, Notre Dame fans), as I mingled with thousands of other
Alabama football fans it occurred to me what the greatest benefit of
organized athletics is, if not its actual purpose. People who
would ordinarily have absolutely nothing in common -- socially,
politically, economically -- can enthusiastically agree one thing:
their team.

A bus driver and millionaire discuss the pros and cons of the I-
formation as bona fide experts while standing in a concession
line.
A Democrat and a Republican slap each other on the back and
laugh in hearty agreement about how the opposing team blocks like a
bunch of South Beach hairdressers and how their cheerleaders are uglier
than a wallflower at a slaughterhouse sex party.

Plus, it beats talking about the weather.

Y´
Speaking of sports, this week's badass is the recently departed
Joltin' Joe DiMaggio. I'll hand the mic over to my buddy Charles
Earle, who put the Yankee Clipper's achievement's succinctly
this week:

• Hit .325 for a career
  

• Struck out a total of 369 times in his entire career with a one
  year high of 39 times his rookie year (Sosa and McGwire
  combined to strike out over 320 times last year and Reggie Jackson struck
  out over 2,500 times in his career)
  

• Had the amazing 56 game hitting streak during which he hit
  .407
  

• Gave 3 1/2 years of the very best of his career to WWII
  

• Was on 9 teams that won the World Series
  

• Possibly the all time greatest hero to Italian American
  immigrants next to Sinatra
  

• Had sex with Marilyn Monroe
  

So how does your resume compare?

This Week's Web Picks:

Swingin' Chicks of the 60s
http://www.swinginchicks.com
Just what the title says. You will be amazed.

Pulp Cards
http://www.pulpcards.com
Virtual postcards of cover art from vintage novels with names
like "I Was A Teeny-Bopper For The CIA," "Naked On Roller
Skates," and "The Gods Hate Kansas."
How can you go wrong?

Grim Rides Club Hot-Rod Hearse Gallery
http://members.aol.com/hearseq/grimrides.htm
And finally, this one's for Stanley Kubrick, who never let his
chauffeur drive over 30 mph, even on the highway. No more
excuses, Kue-Ball -- tell Jeeves to punch it!

To unsubscribe or subscribe, send your request to
thrillby@p...
--- End forwarded message ---

Fender Bass, Small Firearms

Subject: Shallow End 3/26/99
Date: Fri, 26 Mar 1999 17:50:04 -0500
From: Rip <thrillby>
Reply-To: thrillby@p...

Welcome to another edition of The Shallow End: weekly
commentary of absolutely no importance whatsoever by Rip Thrillby.

This week's emphasis is on the state of advertising. I actually
saw a good commercial on television recently that was intelligent
AND funny. It starts out with a first person point of view showing a
gazebo on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. The announcer says
something about imagining a peaceful place where you can
have lunch with your "high school sweetheart... and Cornelius, from 'Planet Of The Apes.'" It shows a guy in a varsity letterman's sweater
cheerfully sitting next to... well, Cornelius, from "Planet Of The
Apes."

Turns out it's a Serta mattress ad, as it then cuts to a smiling
babe slumbering in bed while the announcer says something
about the quality of your sleep on a Serta mattress (they should have put
the Statue of Liberty's head in the background). This is what a good
ad should be, highlighting what the product is supposed to do
without insulting your intelligence. This could be the start of a
memorable series of ads for the company -- what a dream job (huhuhuh) for an ad agency.

By far the most popular radio ad format these days has to be
the "Smart Guy Meets The Dumbass" approach. I'm not sure if
it's from 90% of ad copywriters being frustrated screenwriters, or if
they think this is actually COOL, but it dominates the airwaves.
You know the pitch. You'll hear at least 10 similarly structured ads on
your way home from work if you listen to the radio:

SMART GUY: Hey Bob! Whatcha doin' with that goat there,
neighbor?

<goat>

DUMBASS: Just taking care of the ol' lawn, Gus!

SMART GUY: Your lawn? How?

DUMBASS:Well, the way I figure, this goat here's appetite will not
only keep my grass from growing too tall, but he'll also keep it
growing green and healthy by fertilizing it!!

SMART GUY: Uh, Bob... I have a better idea. Why not just buy or
lease a new Lawnboy SuburbanKing 500 riding mower with
patented Posi-Traction Turf Action? Its comfortable ride and top speed of 13.5 miles per hour ensure you'll get the job done lickety-split, and its
diamond-sharpened carbonate blades spinning at 1200 rpms
ensure a clean, even cut -- much better than your billy goat there.

<goat>

DUMBASS: But GUS... don't forget, my GOAT also fertilizes my
lawn! I bet your new Lawnboy SuburbanKing 500 riding mower with
patented Posi-Traction Turf Action can't do that!

SMART GUY: Uh, Bob -- that's what a dog is for. And you're wrong
about the benefits of the new Lawnboy SuburbanKing 500 riding
mower with patented Posi-Traction Turf Action's role in fertilizing. You
see, its carbonate blades are not only designed to cut grass, but
ALSO to lift and disperse every pile of manure in its path,
spreading it evenly over an area of 15 square feet! That means a
rich, consistently green lawn -- NOT that dreaded polka-dot
minefield effect!

DUMBASS: Well, I guess you got me there, Gus. But I don't have
a dog!

SMART GUY: No problem, neighbor. I'd be happy to send ol' Rex
here <dog> over to fertilize your lawn every day!

DUMBASS: Wow, thanks neighbor! How can I thank you?

SMART GUY: Well Bob, not running down everyone's property
values with barnyard animals is thanks enough for now.

ANNOUNCER: See your local LawnBoy dealer today and buy or
lease the SuburbanKing 500 riding mower with the patented Posi-Traction
Turf Action! It makes the cut!!

DUMBASS: Say, Gus -- when can ol' Rex start fertilizing my lawn?

SMART GUY: (laughs) I think he already has!

DUMBASS: (laughs)

People like to bitch about the cost of the space program. It's an
easy target, after all. And we're waaaay behind on yesterday's
visions of tomorrow like "Space: 1999" and "2001: A Space
Odyssey."
So here's how NASA can pay for the space shuttle program, and
have enough cash to get one of the cool pinwheel space stations like
in "2001" deployed, if slightly behind schedule.

A space lottery. Yep -- three or four times a year, fill the cargo
bay with airline seats and put a plexiglass roof on it, then sell
tickets for a chance to win the Ultimate Ticket To Ride. Ten
bucks, and you win two seats -- one for you and one for a friend or
relative. You sign every waiver known to man, pass a physical,
and off you go for a few hours of orbiting the planet. It's a marketer's
dream -- "The Democratization of Space Flight."

There are people out there who would spend MILLIONS of
dollars on tickets for a shot at blasting off into space. Hell, I'd buy a
couple, and I've never even bought a lottery ticket (a friend of
mine calls them a "tax on people who can't do math").

Where's the advertising? In the NASCAR-style stickers all over
the shuttle, of course.

This can't start soon enough -- adventure awaits.

Truth In Advertising
http://www.chickenhead.com/truth/index.html
A very well-designed gallery of cigarette magazine ads from the
40's and 50's.

The Gallery of Regrettable Food
http://www.lileks.com/institute/gallery/food.html
Scrumptiously appetizing shots of day-glo jello and glistening
pork chops from mid-century magazines and cookbooks. Very amusing.

Sovietski Collection
http://www.sovietski.com
After all this capitalism, how about free market-liberated items
designed in state-controlled economy? Binoculars, cocktail
shakers, submarine clocks...you name it.

To unsubscribe, subscribe, or receive previous editions send
your request to thrillby@p...

The Shallow End
©1999 Southern Surf Syndicate Productions
http://www.penetrators.com
--- End forwarded message ---

Fender Bass, Small Firearms

Subject: Shallow End 4/09/99
Date: Fri, 09 Apr 1999 16:13:11 -0400
From: Rip <thrillby>
Reply-To: thrillby@p...

Welcome to another edition of The Shallow End: weekly
commentary of absolutely no importance whatsoever by Rip Thrillby.

Howdy, folks -- I've been amazed at the number of people who've
written in who've had this weekly dispatch forwarded to them by
others who've had it forwarded to them by yet someone else. I'm
really curious to see how large the circulation has gotten, and if
you want to get on the subscription list directly, drop me a line.
Don't cost nuthin. Plus, your friends won't have to forward it to
you every week.

Also working on getting a Shallow End page setup, with archives
of past editions on www.penetrators.com -- should be up in a few
days.

Rip

Memories of a Public School Education

I have no idea exactly how many teachers and instructors I had
over the course of my checkered academic career -- certainly, well
over a hundred. Interesting, though, how only a handful stand out in my
memory.

Some are memorable for unique reasons, like Mr. Holmgren, a
guy who could make history of any era seem as relevant to high school
sophomores as last week's cafeteria food fight or locker room
brawl.

Then there was Dr. Pound, who taught political theory as
effortlessly as a favorite uncle tells you a joke all the other
adults think you're too young to hear. My favorite Dr. Pound
moment was when after wringing his hands in frustration for most of the
lecture period, he finally called the class a bunch of swine...
without them even realizing it. I can't remember exactly what the
lecture was about, but somehow the Judeo-Christian influence
on political belief-systems came up, and several members of the
class who were better at rote memorization than abstract thought
started quoting scripture, foolishly trying to shoot down his premise.

Dr. Pound valiantly attempted to explain again and again that
they were completely missing his point, as well as taking the verses
they were quoting out of context. Finally, he took a long sip of his
coffee, and his eyes scanned the room. Then he smiled, and
with a chuckle that lay somewhere between a snort and a sigh, he
shook his head. "The only Bible verse I'm thinking of right now concerns
the casting of pearls," he said, referring to Jesus' instructions to
his disciples not to cast their "pearls before swine." A couple of
us laughed out loud. The old boy seemed to appreciate that.

Among many other things, Mr. Larsen, my high school
journalism teacher, equipped me with tools I'll use even while writing this
paragraph. He was a stickler for certain very specific rules of
English, whose violations he called his pet peeves. They soon
became mine as well. Like knowing that "compose" and "comprise" are
NOT interchangeable. That "its" is a possessive pronoun, while "it's"
is a contraction of "it is." Similarly, the difference between "whose"
and "who's." He also HATED it when people used "hopefully" as
in, "Hopefully, the weather will be good." "What -- is the weather
full of HOPE??" he would rant. "We will proceed HOPEFULLY
that the weather will be good. It's an ADVERB. ADVERB. ADVERB." (This
was in Tacoma, Washington -- talk about dashed hopes for good
weather.)

He said that if you got just a few of the most common mistakes
always right, readers will assume you know what you're doing
and give you the benefit of the doubt when you inevitably slip up
somewhere. Most importantly, he taught me that if you know the
rules, then you'll be able to (hopefully) break them effectively
(and that there's no such thing as a split infinitive.) And that
despite what nine out of ten English teachers tell you about
incomplete sentences, there is such a thing as a "fragment for
effect." Like this one.

Do you remember the kind of people who were in your high
school's drama club? Now, imagine, if you will, being dropped in the
middle of one of their meetings and engaging them in a debate on
anything from tax reform to sexual harassment. Scary, huh? That said, I
do admit I like to watch "Politically Incorrect" every now and then, if
for no other reason than to see how stupid celebrities can be.

The actors and actresses usually lead the pack in the Dumbass
Challenge, but sometimes someone else steps forward and
takes the level of the game from merely stupid to PROFOUNDLY stupid,
as earlier this week did former Dead Kennedy lead singer Jello
Biafra, a guy who in all fairness I will I bet was not a member of drama
club. Anyone who saw it knows what I'm talking about, as he
monopolized the debate while seriously advocating that no one
should be allowed to make over $100,000 a year, because he thinks no
one needs the kind of financial power that making more money than
that gives a person. Meaning, of course, that he does advocate that
someone should have the kind of political power (a lot scarier to
me than financial power) to take it away from you, but I doubt he
thought it that far through.

Speaking of "jell-o," did you know that the jiggly wiggly dessert is
actually made from rotting cow skin? Check it out:
http://detnews.com/menu/stories/33131.htm

And hey, kids!! Jell-O makes a swell treat after a meal of Potted
Meat Food Product!
http://www.gate.net/~shipbrk/potted.html

Picking One Out From The Past
Let's take things down yet another notch, shall we? The pollen in
the Atlanta air is so thick right now due to a mild winter and no
rain that if you breathe through your mouth you can actually taste
it. And if you breathe through your nose (if your sinuses aren't
clogged up, that is) before long you will find that, well... it's a
veritable Booger Bonanza!

Along those lines, what follows is a piece I wrote for the
Cowabunga surf music subscription list when a thread on guitar picks got out of hand a little over a year ago. I've had requests for people to re-
send it to them since then, so here it is again:

WARNING: Technical post ahead

Everyone knows nylon picks rule. Enough said, but on a related
theme, what about the picking of the nose? I'm generally a right index-
finger guy if the booger is on the posterior (skull side) nasal wall
or septum, but I get good results from using my thumb for
boogers on the anterior nasal wall, while using the index finger for leverage and stability on the outside of the nose in a slightly curled
fashion, as though the thumbnail would be digging against the
second knuckle of the index finger. I have found that one gets slightly
better results for really stubborn specimens by using the
opposite hand for each nostril, i.e. right hand gets a better lane of
approach for dredging the anterior wall of the left nostril, and
vice-versa.

*** Successful booger-picking is dependent upon a number of
factors:

1. Mucus production: the single most important element. The
   "cold and flu season" is an annual "gold rush," so to speak, for
   nose-picking enthusiasts. No snot, no boogers. The aspiring booger picker
   should ensure that they drink plenty of liquids to keep the, if you will,
   "juices flowing," and it is also helpful to regularly eat foods that
   stimulate the production of mucus, such as jalapeno peppers.
   

2. Dust content: get outdoors frequently if you are striving for
   boogers of superior bulk and texture. A well-ventilated office or
   home does not provide the proper density of dust particles per
   cubic foot of air for true professional-level booger production.
   Residents of the desert southwest have an obvious geographic advantage
   here.
   

3. Nasal hair length: every field of endeavor has its prodigies --
   those with a genetic predisposition towards excellence in a
   given field which becomes apparent at a precocious age, such as your
   Mozarts, your Mary Lou Rettons, your Jimmy Osmonds and the
   like. And booger picking is no exception. Why, when I was in fourth grade
   there was a kid in my neighborhood named Mike Clark whose
   nose was a veritable booger spigot, and with a mix of awe, fascination and
   nausea, from across the room we all used to watch him EAT
   them every day at school. He would actually wipe them on the front of his
   braces, no kidding, and you could tell when he would slide his
   tongue over this booger "curing" rack of sorts for a mid-afternoon
   taste treat. This gave him quite an engaging smile, too, what with
   booger-encrusted braces on crooked teeth. But I digress. Thick
   nasal hair, like what hung out of Mike Clark's nose even at the tender
   age of 9, will produce more boogers more quickly, catching dust in a
   similar fashion to the way a whale captures plankton in the
   comb-like baleen at the entrance to its mouth. So. Given nasal
   hair's fundamental nature to booger cultivation, for maximum
   production, trim your nasal hair only enough to ensure that the hairs don't poke out of your nostrils. You don't want to turn off chicks with
   poor grooming.
   

4. Self-discipline: just as a watched pot never boils, you'll never
   cultivate world-class boogers if you pick at them all the time,
   because you're not giving them the time to grow to their full
   potential! Set aside a few minutes each day, at specified times --
   say, 11 am and 9 pm, and DON'T FALL OFF THE WAGON. You
   will be amazed at the effect sticking to a simple schedule like this will
   have on your nasal harvest.
   

5. Finally, fingernail maintenance. Unfortunately for them, people
   who bite their fingernails are left on the sidelines in the arena of
   high-performance booger-picking. The fingernail serves as a
   shovel, and as such, must have at least 1/32" of a gap between the
   flesh of the finger and the tip of the nail. An easy way to determine this
   is by measuring the "white part" of your fingernail. When clipping
   your nails, concentrate on trimming a smooth, rounded shape.
   IMPORTANT: Wait a few hours after clipping your nails before
   picking again, or you may scratch the tender nasal membrane,
   producing the unwanted-except-to-a-few-eccentrics "blood boogers."
   

By following the above technical guidelines, anyone can become
an accomplished booger-picker -- with practice, you will be able to
effectively employ tricks of the pros like the "pinky clutch" for
those difficult-to-snare "elevator boogers" (a booger that shoots
up and down your nostril like an elevator when you inhale and
exhale through your nose) and the "turn and hook" maneuver
popularized by former Dallas Cowboys and University of Miami football coach Jimmy Johnson.

A few etiquette notes -- beyond the age of 10 it is considered bad
form to wipe your boogers under the table, except in a few well-
defined special situations. As much as you may tempted,
please...
don't save them or show them to other people, no matter how
exceptional a specimen it may be, or how much it may resemble
some long-dead historical figure or star of stage and screen. And
lastly... this should be obvious, but I'll say it anyway -- DON'T
eat them, even if you are hungry. That's just gross.

This Week's Shallow Web Picks

Jump The Shark
http://www.jumptheshark.com
A site that chronicles when various television shows went
irrevocably downhill -- named after the "Happy Days" episode,
when Fonzie (wearing his leather jacket) jumped over the shark on
water-skis.

Wacky Packages
http://www.probe.net/~ncc1701/wacky.html
By the time I was in 2nd grade I had a stack of Wacky Packages
stickers a foot tall. I would kill to have them back. I doubt I'd be
an illustrator/designer today if not for my childhood obsession
with Wacky Packages. This site is a must for anyone who grew up in
the 70s.

Would You Believe...
http://www.bcpl.lib.md.us/~cbirkmey/getsmart.html
About the same age I was laughing hysterically at my Wacky
Packages and developing my irreparably warped sense of humor, I was
just beginning to realize that my favorite show, "Get Smart," was a
comedy. Which made me like it even more.

To unsubscribe, subscribe, or receive previous editions, send
your request to thrillby@p...

The Shallow End
©1999 Southern Surf Syndicate Productions
http://www.penetrators.com

-------- Original Message --------
Subject: Yikes! Shallow End 4/09/99 correction
Date: Fri, 09 Apr 1999 16:33:55 -0400
From: Rip <thrillby>
Reply-To: thrillby@p...

Ha -- if you want to have a mistake jump out at you, just send
something off to a printer then look at the final product, or
click "send" on an email and re-read it when it cc's back to you.

Here's an ironic mistake in today's edition, especially since it's
about correct English usage:

He also HATED it when people used "hopefully" as in,
"Hopefully,
the weather will be good." "What -- is the weather full of
HOPE??"
he would rant. "We will proceed HOPEFULLY that the weather
will be
good. It's an ADVERB. ADVERB. ADVERB."

Blame this one on sloppy cutting and pasting during the editing
process (this is a one-man operation here). It was supposed to
read:

"We will proceed HOPEFULLY this weekend; the weather may
be good.
It's an ADVERB. ADVERB. ADVERB."

Sorry, Mr. Larsen!

Rip

Fender Bass, Small Firearms

THE SHALLOW END
Lots of Subjects, Little of Substance
by Rip Thrillby

May 14, 1999 Edition

If Bil Keane can occasionally let Billy take over and guest-draw
his sorry excuse for a comic strip, "The Family Circus," then I can
occasionally let one of my neighborhood's seven year-old kids
take over and guest-write my sorry excuse for a weekly column, "The
Shallow End." I asked Josh, who is, in his words, "seven going
on eight," to share some observations from his world, which I now
present with minimal editing.
Rip

SEVEN GOING ON EIGHT
By Josh Campbell

I can make fart sounds with my armpits.

I tried to light a real fart once with this lighter I found like I
saw this big kid do at the pool parking lot one time but it didn't
work. Chuck said his dad lit a fart once at a cook out but he wont
do it anymore when he asks him.

When its hot outside and Ive been sweating a bunch, I can come
inside and drink orange juice real fast and then I can hang a loogie out
of my mouth until it almost touches the floor. Most of the time I can
suck it all the way back up into my mouth. That grosses out my
mom.

One time I grossed everyone out at my lunch table by putting my
whole peanut butter jelly sandwich in my mouth at once and chewing it
up and showing everybody. Then this kid named Kurt put two ho
ho's in his mouth and chewed them up and then spit them out on the table
and then he ate them again. It made this one kid named Terry the fairy
throw up all over the place.

There's this girl in my neighborhood whos pretty cool for a girl.
Her names fatty Patty except shes not fat but she can stick her finger
in her eyelids and turn them inside out so it looks like she has
monster eyes. I wish I could do that cause its really cool.

My baseball team got creemed 15 to 4 by the Giants one time.
Coach Griffin goes it doesnt matter if we win or lose its how we play the
game that counts. Our catcher Tommy goes how come you were
so happy then last week when we smeered the Pirates 11 to 1. Coach told
him to shut up.

Sometimes when I go in my parents bedroom in the morning I
can tell their not wearing any clothes under the covers cause they wont
get out of bed and then they always tell me to go watch cartoons in
the den and then they lock the door when they kick me out.
Sometimes I say why cant I watch cartoons here with you guys just to bug
them and they say you just cant so go in the den and watch cartoons. My
dad always throws his pillow at me but he usually misses cause he
never throws it very hard except for that time I sneaked up and yelled as
loud as I could in his ear to wake him up.

My mom never buys good cereal like everyone elses mom does.
Raisin bran sucks and so does Special K.

A cool trick you can play on people is when you take a magic
marker and put 3 dots on their wrist then you tell them this one is the
blind guy, this one is a guy who can't talk and this one is a deaf
guy. Then you start on the blind guy dot and start drawing a line
up their arm and say tell blind guy when to stop walking up your
arm!
They always yell STOP real fast and so you stop when they have
like an inch long line on their arm. Then you do the same thing and
stop when they say stop on the guy who cant talk dot and its also
about an inch long. But then when they say STOP on the deaf guy line you
say haha deaf guy can't hear you!!!! And then you draw the line all the
way up their arm past their mussle real fast. People hate that.
Magic marker works the best cause they cant wash it off.

I used my dads yellow magic marker to do my cursive writing
homework once and my teacher said it gave her a really bad headache to
read it. That was the funniest thing ever.

We got in a dirt clod war one time over where theyre building that
new house and I hit one kid named Arthur in the head and hit
this other kid I dont know smack dab in his nuts from like a mile
away. I didnt even get hit once.

This new kid at school Kelly had to go to the principals office on
account of what he called Nick when Nick called him Kelly the
smelly and made the whole class laugh. Then Kelly goes oh yeah well
you're Nick the dick and everyone laughed even more but Mrs Thomas
heard it and sent him to Mr. Sullivans office. Kelly didnt even know that
dick meant your weener or he said he wouldnt have said Nick the
dick where Mrs Thomas could have heard him. But then the funniest part
was two days later Nick called him Kelly the smelly again, so this time
Kelly tried to be smart and goes shut up Nick the prick. Kelly didnt'
even know prick also means your weener either but now he does
cause he had to go to Mr Sullivans office again. Me and Kurt and Dan and
Chuck told him what a whole bunch of other words were later too when
Mrs Thomas wasnt around for his own good. He didnt know hardly
any of the good ones before but now he does.

Everytime theres golf on tv my dad turns it on and sleeps on the
couch. Then I try to change the channel and he always wakes up
and says, I was watching that! He'd kill me if I tried to lie like that.

There was this kid in my class named Luther that cried evertime
he gets hit with the dodgeball during recess. What a homo.
Everyone called him a homo and then he cries even more. One time Nick
threw Luthers crappy Rugrats lunchbox on the roof but he didn't cry
cause he said he didn't care and he wanted a new lunchbox anyway.
That made Nick get mad and so then he karate kicked Luther in his nuts.
That made him cry but he came to school the next day all happy
showing off his new X-Men lunchbox his mom bought him so Nick karate
kicked him in his nuts again plus he threw his X-Men lunchbox on the roof
and made him cry and called him a homo. I havent seen him in a
long time cause he got moved to a different class but I bet he still cries a
lot and is a homo.

You can make really big fake boogers with rubber cement if you
want to try sometime. Dont try to eat them to gross people out though
or youll just get sick. You can also take elmers glue and if you rub it
all over your hands and then let it dry you can gross people out
by saying your peeling off all your skin.

This kid I know named Steve cant talk worth dog crap. He says
aminals instead of animals and fursday instead of thursday plus a lot of
other junk thats wrong. He can play baseball pretty good though
but we always laugh at him when he says strike free instead of
strike 3 and sounds like a homo. Hes not one like that Luther kid though.
I've only seen him cry once when he wrecked his bike down those
stairs over by the basketball courts and knocked all his front teeth out.
He calls them teef instead of teeth. He grossed everyone out by
eating one of his scabs off his knee at lunch after he did that. I
swear he really did that.

My dad has this humongus book shelf full of a bunch of really
boring books. He said if I read every one of them I wouldnt even need to
go to college but Im not going to fall for that. Nice try dad. He never
reads them either.

What's funny is to spit on your finger and then stick it in
someone's ear and wiggle it. People hate that but its really funny if its not
your ear.

My mom said I can be anything I want when I grow up. So did my
dad but he said I can be anything I want except an acter or a musition
on account of their all a bunch of fruits. So I said how about a race
car driver and he said sure but my mom wont let me get a go cart
to practice. My dad said he had one when he was a kid but my
mom said it was diffrent back then. I said how come, but she said it just was and then she stared at my dad really weird for like an hour when we
were eating supper.

Once when I was five we went to the beach and I saw this ladys
boobs.

To unsubscribe, subscribe, or receive previous editions, send
your request to thrillby@p...

The Shallow End
©1999 Southern Surf Syndicate Productions
http://www.penetrators.com
--- End forwarded message ---

Fender Bass, Small Firearms

THE SHALLOW END 06/19/99
Weekly Ramblings by Rip Thrillby

It's been a couple weeks since the last edition of The Shallow End; been
a little too busy to crank one out until now. This is also an unusual
weekend delivery, as I usually dispatch them on Friday afternoons --
hope it gives you something start the week right, especially for those
reading Monday morning at the office.
Rip

HOW ONE MAN DEALS WITH HIS PEEVE
There's a difference between quitting smoking, and quitting buying
cigarettes. I once knew a guy who hated people bumming smokes from him
so much that whenever he'd open a new pack, he'd take a cigarette out in
front of everyone, then shove it so far up his nostril that you you
couldn't even see the filter anymore. Then he'd twist it around, a
creepy, exuberant leer on his face.
"How about some of my snot with your cigarette?" he'd ask. Then he'd
turn around and put the cigarette back into the pack, so that no one
would know which one had the jacket of mucus. "Who wants to bum from me
now? Eh? Anyone??"
No one ever did.

THEY CALL ME MR. SUAVE
Speaking of snot, let me share my most embarrassing moment with a female
(so far) with you. It was my junior year of high school, and I was a lad
of 16 suffering from a brutal head cold. Massive nasal congestion.
During a break between classes, I was talking to a cute girl named
Renata in the breezeway.
I said something funny; she laughed. She said something funny; I
laughed. And as I did, a blob of brown snot the size of a full-grown
garden slug exploded from my right nostril, gluing itself to my lips and
chin, its tail still attached to the snot mother ship in my nose.
Conversation stopped. I felt my face flush as I realized, to my horror,
what had just happened.
Renata politely looked away -- what could she possibly say? Of course, I
had no hankerchief. What could I do but snort it back up my nose,
helping it along its way with my finger? Hoo boy. I can't even remember
how we ended the conversation, but she said something polite and excused
herself. To her credit, she never mentioned it later, and as far as I
know, never told anyone.

MY NAME IS STILL MR. SUAVE
My junior year was a bonanza of female stress, and the second most
embarrassing female relations episode of my life -- second only because
I didn't have to see this girl's face -- occured that year as well. It
was at a high school dance, and I asked this little hotty named
Millicent, who went to the cross-town high school, to dance.
It was a "slow dance;" I think the song was by Journey or someone
equally lame. No one cared what the song was anyway, as long it was slow
song. The point was, for four minutes or so, you got to hold a girl
tight and have her 16 year-old breasts pressed firmly against your chest
while you hoped you didn't get too noticable of an erection. Seems like
yesterday.
So anyway, I asked this babe to dance, and things were going swell.
Being a teenage boy deathly afraid of scaring away potential slow-dance
partners, I was chewing some kind of breath-freshening gum, fresh breath
being of manifest importance. Bad idea. As we danced, rocking slowly to
Steve Perry's vocal histrionics, I realized to my horror -- there's
that feeling again -- that I had CHEWED HER HAIR INTO MY GUM.
I tried desperately to pull the strands of hair out without her
noticing, hoping against hope that the song would last long enough to
complete the task. It wasn't. As the final chords faded to silence, I
decided, "screw it," and just left the entire wad of gum hanging in her
hair. I can only imagine her expression when she went to the girls' room
and looked in the mirror.
I've rarely chewed gum since that night, especially when I attend high
school dances.

THAT'S COOL, LUCAS
I have yet to see the new Star Wars movie -- I'm waiting for it to come
to the drive-in, to watch it in a lawnchair with fellow members of the
Starlight Drive-Invasion weekly movie-watching society we've formed here
in Atlanta. That THX digital surround-sound oughta sound killer coming
from the bank of cheap jamboxes we set up to hear the low-watt FM signal
the Starlight broadcasts each screen's soundtrack on.

Nearly without fail, every person I've talked to who's seen the film
describes it as, "Well, it's cool to look at," while their facial
expression resembles someone pretending they can handle a mouthful of
Green Apple Ultra Sour Bombs candy without grimacing. I've seen the
trailer, and as best I can tell, the film looks like a cross between
"Rob Roy," the 1980 version of "Flash Gordon" with the Queen soundtrack,
and "A Bug's Life."

I hate to say it, but not only is the emperor (not Palpatine) wearing no
clothes, but computer-generated characters suck. I'm not going to get
into problems with character movement, lighting and perspective and such
-- that videocamera-like sheen, which all computer-generated characters
have, alone draws as much attention to their fakeness as the blue line
around the dinosaurs in a Ray Harryhausen movie. I have no doubt this
will be remedied in the not too-distant future, as it's really not that
great of an obstacle, and most of the truly difficult work has already
been done.

"Star Wars" was the first sci-fi movie in which the space ships actually
looked used. Their worn-out crappiness added to their seeming realism. A
similar approach must be taken to computer-generated characters and
elements. Any Photoshop geek worth his or her salt knows when
compositing elements from different photos, after correcting contrast
and color, the last step is to apply a Noise filter to equalize the
apparent film grain on all the elements. It helps make the part you
added to the original frame look as though it were part of it all along.
You might call it "crapifying" the image quality -- yes, you want it to
look kind of crappy, because this particular kind of "crappy" looks
"real."

And then there's the whole matter of this Roger Rabbit Jar-Jar
character. I hate its guts, and I haven't even seen the movie yet. I do
believe George Lucas has fallen prey to what I call the "That's Cool,
Elvis" effect. Think about Elvis Presley's life, hanging out with his
buddies who comprised the Memphis Mafia, as they called themselves. No
one would tell him anything but "That's cool, Elvis," so there was no
reality check.

"Say boys, I'm thinking about making a picture with Mary Tyler Moore
where she plays a nun, and I don't even sing in it."
"That's cool, Elvis. It's got 'hit' all over it!"

"Hey fellas, how about if I put green shag carpeting on the walls and
install some TVs in the ceiling?"
"That's cool, Elvis. You should do that!"

"Hey folks, I think I'll direct this film. For comic relief, how about a
totally computer-generated salamander who talks like a Jamaican?"
"That's cool, Elvis. Hell yeah!"

What George Lucas could use is someone willing to say, "That's a really
stupid idea, Elvis. You shouldn't do that." If there were, the phrase
"Star Wars backlash" might not even exist.

FOR MEN ONLY, AND THE WOMEN WHO LAUGH AT THEM
This next section is purely utilitarian, but contains information which
I believe needs to be shared for the betterment of society. I'm no Beau
Brummel, but I do know the basic rules for men's dress, rules a lot of
men don't seem to know -- rules most of the ladies do seem to know,
and whose infractions they notice. Hate to step on anyone's toes in what
follows, but that's unavoidable sometimes. But follow these simple rules
of thumb, and you'll be better-dressed than 95% of the men you meet.

• All leather should be the same color. If you're wearing black shoes,
  then wear a black belt. Same thing goes for the color of your watchband.
  

• If you're the type who wears suspenders -- or "braces" if you want to
  get high-falutin' -- do NOT also wear a belt.
  

• The bottom button on a suit jacket or sport coat should always remain
  unbuttoned, whether it's a two or three-button model.
  

• There is a difference between a suit tie and a sport-coat tie. Never
  wear a tie with a small, repeating pattern with a sport coat; those are
  for suits. With a sport coat, one wears only solid ties (still not
  advisable -- kind of dull, unless it's a plaid jacket -- then ONLY wear
  a solid tie), striped ties, or ties with a widely spaced motif, also
  called "club" ties.
  

• Your tie should be the width of the widest point of your jacket's
  lapels, and should be tied so that the tip just covers your belt-buckle.
  A four-in-hand or half-Windsor (for light fabric) knot looks best with
  most ties.
  

• Never, EVER wear a tie with a short-sleeved dress shirt. A friend of
  mine says his dad always told him "only preachers and used-car salesmen
  wear ties with short sleeves."
  

• Your jacket sleeves should expose about 1/2" of your cuffs. Hold your
  arms to your sides and curl your fingers in loose fists -- the bottom of
  your jacket should meet your first knuckles.
  

• Do not wear more than one brightly colored, plaid or patterned item at
  the same time. Doing so makes you look like one of two things: a clown,
  or a fruit. Or both. Sidebar: Scottish plaid is not "plaid" -- it's
  tartan.
  

• I have friends who wear earrings and think no less of them, but I do
  think they'd look a lot better without them. To me, earrings on men
  imply a studied vanity which is hardly in line with the masculine,
  devil-may-care aura most men wish to convey with their appearance. Just
  behold what a vain fool Harrison Ford looks like these days.
  

• When wearing dress pants, wear socks that come high enough up your
  calf so as not to expose your hairy legs when you sit down.
  

• You can wear any color of socks with shorts, as long as they're white.
  

• A pocket square -- the hanky in the breast pocket -- is a touch that
  makes one stand apart from the hoi polloi. Like socks lapel buttonhole
  -- lose the pocket square and the Kiwanis Club lapel pin.
  

• Learn to tie a bowtie. It's not that hard, and very similar to a
  shoelace. If shaming your peers at black-tie affairs is your thing,
  having a real bowtie works very well, especially in the wee hours when
  everyone's loosened up -- the clip-on hanging from the collar just
  doesn't cut it. If you've ever been in a tux and had a woman grab each
  end of your loosened bow tie in her hands to draw you into a wet kiss,
  well... enough said.
  

• Don't wear white dress shoes or white pants in the winter. Most places
  the rule is between Memorial Day and Labor Day, but in the South you can
  get away with it earlier and later.
  

• When having dress shirts laundered, instruct them NOT to press creases
  into the sleeves.
  

• A grooming tip -- if you've gone a while between haircuts, shave the
  back of your neck.
  

• And shine your shoes, for crying out loud. In college I knew a guy who
  was the best waiter I ever saw, who made buckets of dough waiting
  tables. He said he could always gauge what kind of tip he was going to
  get by checking out two things -- a man's shoes, and his watch. Shallow?
  Yes. Accurate? And how. (Another key tip-indicator is choice of salad
  dressing. Blue cheese, oil & vinegar, and Italian dressing eaters will
  likely tip well; French, Ranch or 1000 Island eaters may very well stiff
  you. People who order their steaks well-done and with steak sauce are
  likely cheap tippers as well. I'm not making any of this up.)
  

• When in doubt on a clothing issue, ask a woman. They dig this very
  much.
  

• Finally, when wearing t-shirts that say, "I'm With Stupid," make sure
  you orient yourself so that the arrow points to your companion,
  especially when attending amusement parks or the symphony.
  

SHALLOW WEB PICKS

The Sea-Monkey Worship Page
http://users.uniserve.com/~sbarclay/seamonk.htm
Instant life! Wonderful pets! Owning a fishbowl full of brine shrimp is
practically a rite of passage growing up in America. To this day, Spanky
can't drink orange juice with pulp in it, since I told him when we were
kids that the pulp was actually the carcasses of dead Sea-Monkeys.
Muhahahaha...

The Straight Dope
http://www.straightdope.com
Cecil Adams knows everything. Read his answers to compelling questions
from the teeming millions like, "Does the head remain briefly conscious
after decapitation?" or "Does anybody actually like Circus Peanuts
candy?" (Believe it or not, some people do.)

Doug Stickney's Silver Screen Sirens
http://users.deltanet.com/users/dstickne/index.html
WOW. Pages and pages of galleries of beautiful babes like Veronica Lake,
Lizabeth Scott and Bridget Bardot. Look at this site, and you'll
understand why so many people who didn't even live through it are so
intrigued with mid-century style.

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The Shallow End
©1999 Southern Surf Syndicate Productions
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